


Advance Notice

by jabberish



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Cockblocking, Established Relationship, Fluff, Implied Eventual BDSM, Kissing, No Sex, Scheduling Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:41:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26415103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jabberish/pseuds/jabberish
Summary: Prowl makes Jazz fill out paperwork before they can bang.(they don't actually bang in this)
Relationships: Jazz/Prowl
Comments: 21
Kudos: 84





	Advance Notice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Helia (caretta)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/caretta/gifts).



> I didn't mean to write this. Look. Sometimes you're just living your life, and then suddenly a fic springs to life out of a comment Helia made.
> 
> _Jazz, that’s how they get you hooked. First you’re filling out paperwork romantically while gazing into babe’s blue optics, next you have to give a three-day advance notice before you can bang._

Prowl’s tense and jumpy as he heads back to his quarters after — well fragging after, fragging workaholic — his shift. Part of it’s that he’s always tense, and jumpy’s a way of life these days. He takes a variant route from his usual though, and stays within screaming range of occupied areas. That’s a mech who feels like he’s being shadowed. Clever Prowler.

No one wants a public spectacle today, so nothing happens until Prowl’s at the door to his quarters. He pauses there, radiating nerves to anyone who can read his particular flavor of frame language, and glances around.

It’s not _bad_ reflexes that stop Prowl from immediately sounding alarm or shooting the mech crept in immediately behind him — naw, it’s a special exception registered on a level Prowler will never ever admit is instinctive. 

Jazz can see the moment _vigilance_ becomes _understanding,_ and it’s the moment that Prowl relaxes and meets the embrace coming up around him. Jazz presses forward until they hit wall, seeking plating and warmth and surrendering to his desire to just _touch._ Prowl catches him, melts against him, clutches tight against steadying contact and braces against the wall to shove forward and snag the kiss.

Jazz sort of meant to let them get into the room before getting to this level of display, but Prowl’s kissing him hard and he forgets how to think. Prowl’s just as senseless for a few seconds — grasps Jazz close before eventually, reluctantly, freeing a hand to key the door. Then he fumbles the code twice.

Prowl backs off enough to get the door properly. Jazz takes a breath.

“You’re clear early,” Prowl turns back and murmurs against him. Jazz loses his breath again — frag, his _voice_ — and swings them into the room. 

“Dud lead,” Jazz says as the door closes behind them. Unimportant detail, he gets it out with what little attention he can spare from metal and vents and bright optics. “Boring mission, no injuries, no nothing, just driving and thinking ‘bout how much I missed ya.”

He kisses Prowl again, something quicker, a kiss that skims from his mouth and flutters down along his neck — he kisses down his frame and presses forward and strokes his hands along Prowl’s sensitive planes for more touch, more contact, stumbling them on to the berth.

Prowl laughs and Jazz’s already fraying thoughts scatter again. “You are in a mood.”

Jazz pulls himself back with a grin. “I am, I am.” He makes himself let go of Prowl long enough to haul himself up into a slightly more comfortable position, offers a light tug on Prowl to rearrange him. 

Prowl shifts, relaxing into and catching himself on Jazz until they’re tangled, mostly facing each other, Jazz mostly in Prowl’s lap. 

Jazz brings himself to a slower tempo and nuzzles gently across the top of Prowl’s wings. Prowl’s vents hitch and he grabs at Jazz’s back. Jazz stops himself from pressing in harder. Prowl tilts his head enough to show a querying look.

“Wanna savor you,” Jazz says, the buzz of his voice drawing a beautiful quiver down Prowl’s wing. 

“I am not averse.” Prowl’s voice is low, rough with static, and the glow off his optics is dim.

Jazz rests his head against Prowl’s shoulder and plays his fingers up along his back. “I’m in a mood!” he says. “With my Prowler, on a real base — real base, Prowl! I was thinking about that.”

“Yes,” Prowl mumbles, sinking incrementally against Jazz, “safe.”

“Yeah.” A wave of fondness hits Jazz, and he strokes Prowl’s back more firmly. “Yeah, safe,” he says, and drums against Prowl’s wing to see if he can flush out a little energy. “And we got a stash of the good toys here, don’t we?”

Prowl perks up under his hands. 

“Wanna tie me up?” Jazz feels Prowl’s engine crank up at that. “Or get tied?” Either sounds fantastic right now, and asking wins him another gear up, and a gust of heat from Prowl’s vents.

“...No,” Prowl mutters unhappily.

Jazz sits back a little so he can see Prowl’s face. 

Prowl sits up, takes a vent cycle, and blinks muzzily to collect himself. He sighs and nods. “The idea is hedonistically appealing. However, I need to check and review a plan proposal in the next two joor. Additionally, I am currently on call for emergency response. Either situation on its own prohibits a satisfying scene.”

“Ah.” Jazz drops his head to Prowl’s chest. He hums, blending the vibration with Prowl’s engine in his overheated chassis. “...we can do something quick that won’t compromise emergency response time?”

Prowl pulls back and treats Jazz to a look heavy with contempt.

Jazz laughs and flops himself curled against Prowl. “Fine, fine, do it right or not at all. I can delay gratification,” he says. 

Jazz grins and wriggles himself to get their thoracic lines close. He rubs a thumb over Prowl’s port. “Been thinking about this for a while, y’know, and it’s been fun. Lets the anticipation build.” Prowl gives access and Jazz sets a connection. He lets the warmth of _love_ and _comfort_ roll around for a little bit. Then he shares some _ideas._

“Good,” Prowl says. “Given the current alert level on base, you should know that both of us have on call duty schedules that will make our usual interface games irresponsible.” Prowl pulses a familiar fond _concentrate, Jazz_ across the hardline, and then passes across — 

Jazz sits up, as far as the lines connecting them allow. “Prowl, is this a meeting request form?”

Prowl snorts dismissively and shifts an arm to better brace Jazz’s new position. “No, it is a subcategory of a leave request. Suitable to allow the administrative aspects of what we’ll want. Note the required advance file time.”

“Required— _three days?_ Prowl, when have I ever had three straight days go as planned?” Jazz twists to try to glare at Prowl properly.

“If you would keep your calendar up to date, I would be able answer that.” Prowl holds the hardline in place so Jazz can resettle without pulling uncomfortably. He also rolls his optics. “As is, since you do not, you'll have to be the one to file the RFL-X. _My_ schedule is up to date.”

Jazz stares for a moment, _appalled_ and _in love,_ and slumps back into Prowl’s lap, groaning and laughing. “Fragger, frag you!” He leans up to kiss Prowl’s chin. “'kay, fine, fancy stuff later.”

Prowl dodges the kiss. His optics are bright, distracted. 

Jazz pauses. “You okay?”

“Yes. No. Yes,” Prowl says. “I'm looking over the fantasies you had.” Prowl nods, and Jazz can feel his wondrous mind working. 

“They will require some preparation.” Prowl looks down at him, expression bright, fingers nestled under Jazz’s plating and twitching against sensitive wires. “I want to do the one with the knives,” he breathes. “If I distract you now, 87% likely you will not do the necessary preparation.”

Jazz is lost for a moment under the _desire_ in Prowl’s look, and takes a klik to register what’s happening. “Prowler,” he says, plaintively.

Prowler gently lets go of him, extracting his hands from Jazz’s plating and shrugging into a stable seat. He takes a deep breath and audibly forces a downshift. He looks over Jazz’s shoulder, and reaches for what the hardline connection lets Jazz know is a _shift rota datapad._

“Prowl,” Jazz croaks. “Prowler, don't do this.”

“It lets the anticipation build,” Prowl says evenly, tucking his plating back into place like Jazz ain’t fragging jacked into him and getting a steady buzz of _lust_ across the line. 

The lust fades without disappearing entirely as Prowl up-resources tac net and starts to actually fragging do work.

Jazz doesn't unplug though. He stays curled up, warm, close, safe. 

And he starts filling out the fragging form.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [For Your Consideration: Intercourse](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26422495) by [caretta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/caretta/pseuds/caretta)




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